“Merci, Juliana,” he murmured softly.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“Only a bit of privacy.”
“That I can promise.” They exchanged a glance that revealed they were far more than strangers. “I hope once your business is completed you will have time for pleasure. My door is always open to you, Philippe.”
With a last lingering smile the woman turned to walk back down the hall, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume.
Raine found her teeth gritted as she glared at the man standing at her side.
“Juliana?” she demanded.
“She is an old friend.”
Raine doubted that friendship had anything to do with their relationship. “Did she beguile you, as well?”
A smug smile curved his lips. “You sound almost jealous, meu amor.”
She did sound jealous. Probably because the mere thought of Philippe with the sophisticated blonde was enough to make her want to slap the woman. And then Philippe for good measure.
Damn, the irritating man. What was he doing to her?
“Can we just get this over with?” she demanded as she folded her arms over her oddly tight stomach. “Or are we to spend the entire day standing in this hall?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PHILIPPE RESISTED THE URGE to laugh as he reached to push open the nearby door. As a rule he disliked jealous women. The last thing he desired was a clinging female who believed that she possessed some claim upon him.
But the sight of Raine’s taut expression and the tense annoyance that shimmered about her slender body pleased him in a manner that he did not quite understand.
In truth it made him long to press her into the corner and prove that whatever Juliana’s undoubted charm, it was her own fiery spirit that made him ache with need.
With a shake of his head at his odd mood, Philippe stepped into the small, book-lined room. The scent of aging leather and wood smoke greeted him as he crossed over the threshold. And, as Juliana had promised, there was a thin, gray-haired gentleman seated near the fireplace, his lined countenance set in an expression of peevish annoyance.
Not that he had expected anything else. His gaze slid to where Carlos leaned negligently against the heavy mahogany desk. Not many would dare to defy the large, always dangerous man.
Pausing to settle Raine in a chair beside the door, Philippe moved forward to offer a shallow bow.
“Monsieur Mirabeau?”
The man scowled with annoyance. “Oui.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“There was no agreement.” A gnarled hand banged on the arm of his chair. “Your…henchman simply arrived at my door and commanded that I accompany him. Since he is considerably larger and some years younger than myself I had no choice but to be dragged to this place.”
Philippe crossed to the desk and returned with a small glass of cognac. “Perhaps this will help ease any discomfort you might have suffered.” He offered it to the gentleman, who promptly swallowed the golden spirits in one gulp.
Setting aside the glass, Mirabeau glared at Philippe. “What I desire is an explanation of this outrage.”
“First I believe introductions are in order,” Philippe said smoothly. “Carlos you have already met.” He motioned his hand toward the silent Raine. “This is Mademoiselle Beauvoir. And I am Philippe Gautier.”
A silence shrouded the room before Mirabeau struggled to his feet.
“You are Louis’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Mon Dieu.” He gave a shake of his silver head. “Why did you not simply send me a note? I would have been happy to meet with you.”
“I would prefer that no one realize that we have spoken.”
“Why?”
Philippe met the watery-blue gaze with a grim expression. “I want you to tell me everything you know of a man named Seurat.”
“Seurat?” The elderly man muttered a string of curses. “Do not speak of that loathsome wretch.”
A flare of sharp satisfaction raced through Philippe. Thank God. He could not deny that deep part of him had feared he had been chasing shadows while Jean-Pierre faced the gallows.
“So you recognize the name?”
“How could I not?” The elderly man abruptly turned to stare into the fire, a fine tremor shaking his frail body. “He has plagued and bedeviled me for years.”
Philippe frowned at the husky confession. “What has he done?”
“Nothing that can be proved.” Mirabeau held his hands toward the flames. “The windows of my home have been broken on countless occasions, my collection of Grecian friezes was destroyed while they were on display at the Tuileries, even my carriage has been run off the road.”
“And you believe it is the work of Seurat?”
“I have seen him,” Mirabeau rasped. “Standing in the shadows. Always in the shadows.”
Meu Deus. To have tormented this poor old man for years. The bastard was clearly insane.
“What connection does he have to my family?” he demanded.
“I…cannot say.”
Philippe reached out to grasp the man’s thin shoulder and tugged him around to meet his fierce glare. He might feel pity for Mirabeau, but his brother’s life hung in the balance.
“Do not play games with me, monsieur,” he warned in silky tones.
“Your father has sworn me to silence.”
“As usual my father is not here to clean up the mess he has created. You will tell me everything you know before my brother is sent to the gallows. Do you understand?”
The wrinkled face paled. “So the rumors are true? He has been arrested?”
“He faces the hangman unless I can find Seurat and force him to confess that Jean-Pierre is innocent.”
Mirabeau licked his thin lips. “Mon Dieu, this is a disaster,” he muttered. “I warned Louis. I told him that he was courting trouble to betray Seurat, but he would not listen to me.”
Philippe’s hand dropped as he frowned in sudden confusion. “Betray Seurat? What the hell are you rambling about?”
Clearly shaken, Mirabeau returned to his chair and dropped onto the cushions.
“We were in Egypt.”
“Who?”
“Your father and I.” He shrugged. “I believe that Stafford was there, as well. And, of course, the ridiculous army of servants you must hire when you travel through the desert.”
Philippe returned to the desk to pour himself a measure of the cognac. He had a sense that he was going to have need of the potent spirit before the interview was done.
“Do you speak of the occasion when my father discovered the Egyptian tomb?” he demanded as he returned to stand before the seated gentleman.
“Oui.”
“And Seurat was there, as well?”
“Your father had hired him as a guide. He was French but he had lived in Egypt for years.” Mirabeau gave a short, humorless laugh. “We were warned that he was…unstable, but he was reputed to be the best guide in the entire country.”
“And my father would demand the best,” Philippe said dryly. At least Louis would demand the best so long as Philippe was footing the bill.
“As you say,” Mirabeau agreed.
“I presume that you managed to find your way through the desert?”
“We made camp in sight of the pyramids. Your father suspected that there were many more tombs spread beneath the endless sea of sand. And he was right.”
“You found the tombs?”
He shrugged. “A few, but they had all been disturbed centuries before.”
“Grave robbers?”
Mirabeau gave a sharp nod. “In most cases we found nothing more than scattered bones and broken pottery. Certainly not the rich bounty we had been hoping for.”
Philippe smiled wryly. “Nor the glory my father so desires.”
“Precisely.”
There was a brief silence as Philippe mulled over the grudging confessio
n. He was far more interested in what Mirabeau was attempting to avoid revealing than what he was saying.
“Obviously you did at last discover a tomb that could offer a bounty beyond your dreams,” he said. Even he could rarely view his father’s Egyptian collection without catching his breath in wonder.
It was more than the golden relics and gem-encrusted jewelry. There was quite simply an ageless beauty to be discovered among the statues and vases and exotically decorated sarcophagi.
“In a manner of speaking,” Mirabeau said vaguely.
Philippe hissed out an impatient breath. He did not have the time for this nonsense.
“Enough of your hedging. Simply tell me what happened,” he commanded.
The pale eyes flashed with annoyance at Philippe’s biting tone, but thankfully he seemed to realize that he would eventually have to admit the truth of what had occurred in the desert of Egypt.
“Your father was becoming infuriated by our lack of success. He had devoted all his resources to this trip and he swore he would not return without something to show for his investment,” he muttered. “That was when he began to notice that Seurat was sneaking away from the camp late at night and not returning until early the next morning.”
“Did my father confront him?”
“Non. He suspected that Seurat was performing his own dig. And that the servant had managed to stumble over a find.”
Philippe stilled, his instincts tingling as he realized he was about to learn the truth his father had kept long hidden.
“One far richer than your own?”
Mirabeau released a soft sigh. “It was…astonishing. I have never seen such treasures. A prince’s tomb entirely intact. You cannot imagine how rare and wonderful that is.”
“Wonderful enough to steal it from Seurat?”
With an effort Mirabeau struggled from the chair, his face flushed with outrage. “It was not stealing. Seurat was a paid servant who was there to be our guide. He should have come to us the moment he suspected he had uncovered a tomb. That was his duty.”
Philippe heard Raine gasp behind him, but he never allowed his gaze to shift from Mirabeau. He had always suspected there had been some nefarious dealings during his father’s trip to Egypt. Not only had Louis been strangely reluctant to speak of his spectacular discovery, but he kept his bounty under tight lock and key rather than flaunting it for all the world to see.
“And instead he intended to plunder the goods beneath your very noses?”
Mirabeau’s flush darkened. “Ungrateful wretch.”
“What did my father do?”
“What any gentleman would do. He claimed the find as his own and we divided the profits accordingly.”
There was another strangled sound from Raine. She clearly did not appreciate the notion of droit de signor.
“And what was Seurat’s profit?”
“The usual for a paid servant.”
“No doubt Seurat was not entirely satisfied with his share?”
Mirabeau shuddered at the memory. “To be honest, the man was as mad as the locals had warned us. He tried to stab your father before we at last were forced to drive him from the camp.” Another shudder racked the thin body. “Before he left he swore that he would see us all destroyed.”
If Seurat was mad then it was the most dangerous sort of madness, Philippe acknowledged. He was willing to wait and plot for years before striking.
“You said that you have seen him in Paris?” he demanded abruptly.
Mirabeau gave a short nod. “Oui.”
“Do you know where he resides?”
“He moves and lives among the peasants.” Mirabeau made a disgusted sound. “I have hired countless men to try to track him with no luck.”
Philippe did not allow the words to disturb him. Mirabeau could hardly be expected to have experience in trailing a determined scoundrel. Philippe, on the other hand, possessed years of practice.
“Does he have any family?”
Mirabeau lifted a hand to run it wearily over his thinning hair. “I…do not know.”
Philippe reluctantly accepted that the elderly gentleman was looking distinctly wilted. Clearly, his days of trotting about the world in the wake of Louis Gautier had taken their toll on the poor old sod.
“Is there anything else you can tell me of the man?” he asked as he motioned toward the silent Carlos.
Mirabeau rose to his feet and heaved a deep sigh. “Only that he will not be satisfied until we are all ruined.”
“Thank you, monsieur.” Philippe shook the man’s hand before stepping back. “Carlos will see that you are returned to your home.”
“You will halt Seurat?” Mirabeau demanded, genuine fear laced through his voice. “You will ensure that we are safe?”
“I will do whatever necessary to find Seurat and put an end to his vengeance,” Philippe swore softly.
A relieved smile touched the elder man’s lips. “Bless you, my son. Bless you.”
THE CARRIAGE WAS SHROUDED in silence as it wound its way through the frozen streets back to Montmartre.
Philippe was no doubt scheming the best means of tracking down his prey, Raine acknowledged. There was certainly a grim set to his countenance that warned his thoughts were not pleasant.
She, on the other hand, was pondering Monsieur Mirabeau’s unexpected revelations.
Dear heavens. She had already suspected from Philippe’s rare comments that Louis Gautier was a selfish and self-absorbed gentleman. Certainly he had readily handed the responsibility of his family over to his son while he indulged his obsession with his various collections. He did not even seem concerned for Jean-Pierre despite his dire predicament.
Still, it was shocking to realize how he had treated poor Seurat. Perhaps the servant had been wrong to seek out his own treasure while in the employ of Monsieur Gautier, but that surely did not give anyone the right to simply take it from him?
If nothing else he should have received the largest share of the bounty.
It was little wonder he had gone a bit mad.
The silence remained intact until the carriage slowed to traverse the steep, narrow streets of Montmartre. Shifting on the leather seat, Philippe turned to regard her with a searching gaze.
“You are very quiet, querida. What is going through that mind of yours?”
Raine hesitated for a long moment. She had come to know Philippe well enough to realize that he was far too fond of considering his word as law. There were very few who were brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to dare imply he might be mistaken in any manner.
She was not, however, a woman who kept her opinions to herself. Not even when it obviously would be the wisest choice.
“Do you wish the truth?” she asked instead.
“I would not have asked if I did not wish the truth.”
“Very well.” She unconsciously squared her shoulders. “I was thinking that Seurat must be a lonely and sad man.”
He was seated close enough that she could feel his large body stiffen. “He is clearly demented and a danger to others.”
“You do not believe that he might have a legitimate reason for feeling betrayed by your family?” she demanded in low tones.
“He was being employed by my father when he stumbled across the tomb. As Mirabeau pointed out it, was within my father’s right to claim it as his own.”
His tone held that arrogant edge that made Raine grit her teeth. “Within his rights?”
“Yes.”
“Which only means that your father possessed the wealth and power necessary to enforce his will,” she muttered.
His smile was derisive. “That is the way it has been, and always will be.”
Raine balled her hands in her lap. It was that or slapping the cold, aloof expression from Philippe’s handsome face. There were times when he could be so blasted superior.
“But Seurat was the one to find the tomb.”
“It was my father who financed the excava
tion. Anything discovered belonged to him.”
“So because Seurat was a mere servant he was allowed nothing?”
A dangerous glitter darkened his green eyes. “He was no doubt paid for his services. He was a fool to expect more.”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “Good God, Philippe, do you have compassion for no one?”
Without warning he reached out to jerk the bonnet from her head before his fingers were grasping her chin in a firm grip. He leaned close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath sweep over her lips.
“Certainly not for a man who has plotted revenge upon my family for years. A man who has schemed to have my brother hanging from the gallows.”
Raine was forced to swallow the lump in her throat. She did not fear Philippe, but there was no mistaking the anger that smoldered just beneath his cold composure.
“I do not condone his…madness, but that does not mean he is undeserving of some pity,” she managed to point out.
“Pity is a weakness that has never troubled me.”
Well, that she easily believed. He had wrapped himself in an impervious cloak of icy indifference toward all but a handful of people he allowed himself to care about.
“Pity is not a weakness.”
His lips twisted. “Tell me, Raine, when the magistrate eventually comes to haul your father to prison, will you feel pity for the man just attempting to do his job? Or will you shoot him in the heart?”
Her breath caught at his brutal question. She had laid herself open for the attack, but that did not stop her from flinching.
“I…do not know,” she confessed in a husky voice. “I suppose I will always attempt to protect those I love.”
“As will I,” he said grimly.
She sucked in a deep breath. She could not explain why it was important to her that Philippe be swayed from his determination to destroy Seurat. The situation had nothing to do with her. But, something deep inside her wanted to reach past his brittle exterior to the vulnerable man beneath.
Her expression softened as she reached up to lightly touch his arm. “Philippe, has it occurred to you that if you could find Seurat and somehow offer him a portion of what he feels is due to him that he might willingly end his vengeance against your family? Would that not be preferable to be always fearing he is in the shadows stalking you?”
A Daring Passion Page 18